


two sides of a coin

by electronic_elevator



Category: markiplier - Fandom
Genre: AHWM, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Established Relationship, Fear, Incontinence, Omorashi, Other, POV Second Person, POV Third Person, calling this porn would be an overstatement but there's kink, fear wetting, mostly plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:48:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25639027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electronic_elevator/pseuds/electronic_elevator
Summary: This is a kink fic but it’s also mostly plot so sorry to everyone on both sides. Read the tags, please!Summary: Dark shows up where he hasn’t been invited, hoping to get through to the viewer, who seems so totally oblivious to what the Actor has done and who he actually is. The Actor is terrified, and you’re left on your own to deal with Dark, with no idea what’s happened to Mark. Whatever the hell Dark was building up to gets cut short, leaving you confused and scared and hurrying to find Mark.
Relationships: Actor Mark/Reader - Relationship, Darkiplier & Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	two sides of a coin

**Author's Note:**

> right so I talked about this on twitter (@electroelevator :eyes: but 18+ only or you will be blocked) but living in such damaged bodies, Dark and Actor both definitely have bladder control issues. I wanted to write about that and it was gonna be more kink-focused but I _also_ wanted to explore the idea that the Actor is actually scared of Dark because while the Actor does eventually plan, in an abstract and delusional way, for them to have this final confrontation where he triumphs, he wants to continue their story as long as possible — meanwhile Dark wants to find him and permakill him as soon as possible and doesn’t give a shit about the _story_. So this ended up moooooostly plot.

Fuck. _Fuck._ **He** wasn’t supposed to be here, in the middle of the heist the Actor had planned so carefully. 

The Actor could sense him, and he’s ashamed to say he ran. Y/N would be fine, right? They _had to_ be fine because, god, he couldn't go back for them. His heart was beating so fast. How did he find out?!

Mark hadn’t written him into this story. Hadn’t written him into _anything_ for… a while. Someday, of course, they’d have their final confrontation and _obviously_ when that day came, Mark would win, because he was the hero and Dark was the villain. That was the crux of it all in the end. But the Actor… well, he hadn’t written that yet. He wasn’t sure how it should go down _exactly,_ and obviously it needed to be perfect — that was _why_ he hadn’t written it yet. The only reason.

But he knew Dark had never stopped looking for him. That was another thing — their conflict was to be on Mark’s terms. Not _this_.

God, he was _scared,_ pathetically scared, shaking even. It was too all-consuming to pretend otherwise or deny it. _How had Dark found him?_

He couldn’t go back for Y/N, as much as he hated himself for just leaving them there. He was supposed to be the hero. He _needed_ to be the hero — there was nothing else for him to be — but he’d run away and now he was so scared he couldn’t think straight. Maybe they’d run, too. It was possible they could sense it, too. He’d been caught so off guard — what else was he supposed to do?! 

Another thought crept up on him. _Was he even safe here?_ If Dark could just show up in the middle of his story, where else could he show up? 

The Actor squeezed his eyes shut, fighting panic, and it was then he felt hot wetness dripping down his legs. He clapped a hand over his mouth, having at first no idea what was going on and only becoming more terrified, but then realizing he was _pissing himself._ His clothes soaked through quickly and he heard a pattering on the ground — it wasn’t louder than his labored breathing, but it was out of his control and so seemed all the more obvious. All the more dangerous. 

God, no, he couldn’t go back now. It had been decided for him: he was going to have to leave. No one could see him like this. But he waited until he was completely finished, after the last trickles joined the puddle below him. Of all the humiliations of the past few minutes, the tears he couldn’t stop were the least shameful — he cried as quietly as he could, because he was still terrified Dark would come after him, and now — _only_ now, he told himself through the vicious thoughts — he was in no state to fight. So he ran, leaving Y/N completely on their own with a dangerous villain and resenting himself for it with each step in his soaked pants. 

————————————

Mark had… vanished. His flashlight was on the ground. You looked around, confused. “Mark…?” you called out. Now, it’s not like he’d given you a script — he usually didn't. Mostly you just followed along and wung it, so it was possible this was just what was going to happen next. Still, something about it gave you pause.

You told yourself it was just because you never liked doing the split up paths. Mark usually just died, and well, you didn’t like that so you’d always do them last. 

You crept forward, looking for your companion… or whatever you might find instead. “Mark…” you called again. It was getting harder to ignore whatever was unsettling you. It became almost palpable in the air until suddenly the world seemed to shift around you. You were no longer in the sewers. This wasn’t right. This didn’t make any sense. But there was no way back, and you had to walk forward down the hallway. Was this the prison…? 

What the fuck were these portraits..? Who are these people..?

Your phone vibrated. You hoped it was Mark, but the number came up as “unknown.” Maybe… he was just trying to freak you out. This could be some kind of horror ending… except that wouldn’t really fit with the rest of the endings on this path. You’d been expecting something to do with the cult again — an encounter with another side character, maybe, or even another ego. 

At this point, you hoped it wasn’t _another ego._ You were trying to keep the thought out of your head, even. It couldn’t be. There was no way Mark would let that happen. 

You heard echoing whispers and goosebumps broke out on your neck. _Who the fuck are these people?_ You got another text. Then another. What the fuck was this person talking about? Question what? This wasn’t Mark. You fought the urge to throw your phone. You were going to need to thoroughly dispose of it. Leaving it for… anyone to find wasn’t safe.

There was another portrait up ahead. That pink moustache… you could only think of one person: Wilford. The portrait underneath the paint didn’t look like him, though — he didn’t dress like that. You’d met him in the heist, actually. He’d almost killed you, but somehow it hadn’t come across as malicious. Really, he seemed nice enough, but Mark had been infuriated and not let you continue the heist until the next day. Apparently he was an ego, and you’d assumed him to be one of Mark’s characters — maybe, like yourself, one who had outgrown their role — but Mark wouldn’t tell you any more about him. 

The words of yet another unfamiliar voice echoed. Something about this one stood out to you. “I thought that it was about time that we got to _know_ each other. Someplace far, far away from the _prying eyes_ of…”

Your reality shifted again. It seemed to be right in your ears that the voice finished. “ _Anyone else._ ” A chill went through you. Now you were just… nowhere. Like you’d been dropped into the void. But then lights from overhead came on, each one intensifying the sick feeling in your gut — until the last. Now _that_ was a portrait you recognized. _Mark._ Your Mark. You recognized the setting, too — the manor. You had to bite your tongue against the urge to cry out for him again. At this point, you hoped he _wasn’t_ here. Then, his voice rang out. 

“It’s not about me. It’s about you! And who knows… I could be _dead_ tomorrow.” 

As his voice distorted into a laugh, the painting chipped and peeled away.

The effect was incredibly disturbing when you didn’t know if he was safe, but you tried not to show your fear. You also realized a few things that in retrospect should’ve been obvious. A man named Wilford, who’d so enraged Mark he wouldn’t speak to you of him? Mark had even told you, once, that William was still alive.

But that left no doubt. You couldn’t ignore the signs anymore. You knew who it was when the next voice spoke — though you hadn’t expected the distortions. His words were ringed with glitches and static that only further scared you, but you forced yourself to keep a level expression, inasmuch as you could, as you turned around. You’d give him _nothing_ if you could help it. 

“Same snake… different skin. Always spinning his yarns… his webs… his _lies._ ” 

You refused to react. If you spoke, you’d only start demanding to know what happened to Mark, and you didn’t want to risk telling him anything he didn’t already know.

“I always thought that you were trapped in his games… perpetually plunging down the rabbit holes of his stories. Helpless. Lost.”

Of course you weren’t. Clearly, you made the right decision in keeping quiet — he didn’t know the least thing about you or your relationship with Mark. 

“I know the feeling,” he spat, glitching further. You startled visibly at that — a physical being glitching like that shouldn’t be possible, but there it had happened right in front of your eyes. It was terrifying. 

That, and something twisted inside you as you recalled what little you knew about how Dark had formed. Mark had said something about a _corruption_ of souls. You wished you knew more. You didn’t understand anything about the being in front of you. 

Mark claimed to have told you all he knew, and maybe that was true when it came to Dark himself, but you knew there were many details from that night and the time leading up to it that he kept from you. It didn’t sit right with you, but you’d never pressed Mark to tell you more than he offered willingly because you knew how painful it was for him. 

You could still see the faces you didn’t know from the portraits in your mind’s eye. 

Dark had continued monologuing. Clearly this was a prepared speech. “Perhaps I’m the crazy one. Perhaps we’ve met a hundred times already, and you simply _don’t remember it._ Perhaps, you’re tired of me repeating myself over and over and over _and over and over **and over again!”**_

He was outright duplicating, each image more angry. You flinched, again, as the original image’s face distorted. You couldn’t help it. But then, he looked to reassert his composure and prepare to speak again. You — more out of defensiveness than anything else — nearly broke your silence and yelled something back, to interrupt him and to demand some kind of explanation as to what the hell he wanted, but then he froze. His composure gave way to unnervedness, and the confidence he had that had been so intimidating moments ago wilted somewhat. 

You heard him mutter the word “ _No,_ ” angry but clearly confused, or at least caught off guard. The complete change in demeanor had you reeling — were you still in danger? You hadn’t even figured out what the fuck had been going on before. You looked around the space where you were standing, trying to discern if something had changed, when you noticed.

Everything had been rendered monochrome, here, save the aberrations at the edges and the glitching, but that didn’t stop you from noticing a slight darkening beginning from the crotch of Dark’s white suit pants, then expanding, running down his legs. He couldn’t possibly be pissing himself…? But, he was, and didn’t seem to know what to do about it, so he simply stood, staring at nothing between the two of you. The ringing in the room grew more intense, and you could tell from Dark’s tense posture and unsteady breathing that he was angry, and probably embarrassed. 

It’s not like you could leave when you had no idea how you’d gotten here, and you certainly weren’t going to offer words of comfort to the man who wanted to destroy your life and kill your love. So you just watched him soak himself. 

After a minute or so, you supposed he was done. The stain had stopped spreading. He looked to the side, lip curling in disgust. “ _Get out,_ ” he said. 

You wanted to scream. You _couldn’t_ get out — he’d practically kidnapped you — but then reality itself seemed to slide away from you and you found yourself back in front of the museum you’d been robbing with Mark. 

As soon as you were steady on your feet, you hurled your phone as hard as you could at the ground, and stomped on it until it was in pieces. Then, you gathered the pieces up and put them in your pocket.

Who knew if that would be enough to prevent Dark from tracking you? His control over this reality was probably on par with Mark’s, even though Mark didn’t usually use all the fanfare that Dark had. However, if you left the story, he shouldn’t be able to take you or get to you again. He hadn’t so far, in your years living with Mark, so it must just be this place. 

You hypothesized he’d be a little preoccupied dealing with the aftermath of his accident, and hoped that would be enough to distract him while you got out. 

You went home, back to the manor, as fast as you could. You could only hope Mark would’ve done the same — even if it had been safe to search for him in the heist, you couldn’t navigate the story without him, so this was your only option. 

——

Mark had been pacing in the foyer, tearing himself up inside about leaving Y/N, and about being too much of a coward to go back for them. 

One after another, fears and dark thoughts bubbled to mind. He was worried Dark would kill Y/N just to hurt him. He couldn’t imagine his life without them. Not anymore. He couldn’t lose someone else he loved so much and he couldn’t be alone again. He was worried Dark could steal them like he’d stolen some of Mark’s other characters, some of the egos. That would be even worse because, while the Actor could blame Dark for it, at the end of the day it would be Y/N leaving him. Mark simply couldn’t take that heartbreak. And _fuck,_ what kind of hero runs away from the villain, let alone gets scared enough to wet himself? He didn’t deserve Y/N if he was that pathetic. And if they returned, what would he tell them? As selfish as it was, he didn’t want them to know of his shame.

After what felt like hours of torment, the front doors opened to reveal Y/N who immediately called his name. 

Mark breathed their name before they ran to him, hugging him tightly, like they were two pieces of modeling clay someone wanted to fuse back together. He’d never been so relieved in his life, but it wasn’t an elation — the situation was too horrible, too stressful, for it to feel good. He clutched to them, clinging so hard Y/N couldn’t even take a deep breath, but they didn’t care. 

“Mark, Mark, I’m so glad you’re okay,” Y/N said, horribly upset. “I-I met Dark, he— god, Mark, I don’t fucking know what he did, I don’t know how he found us, I don’t understand how he got in your story; Mark, I was so worried he had you, too,” they rambled, trying to explain but finding no useful words.

Mark had barely processed what they’d said, too caught up in having them back in his arms. Safe. ~~No thanks to him.~~ He softly said their name again, threading a hand in their hair, petting it just to feel they were really here.

“…You _are_ okay, aren’t you, Mark?” Y/N asked, pulling back just enough to look at his face, giving him a worried look. 

Mark gave them a fake reassuring smile, but couldn’t keep it up — not in Y/N’s searching gaze. He swallowed hard, and offered an honest, watery “I was so scared,” and then pulled them to him again. 

They just held each other for a while. 

Y/N’s worries were getting the better of them. “How do we make sure he can’t find us?” 

“We’re not going back to the heist. There were a couple more endings but… never again. I’m sorry.” It had been such a fun adventure, but if Dark had gotten in, they could never re-play it, and the Actor was sure it would be a long time before he felt comfortable writing a new story. 

“But _here?_ Are we safe _here?_ I— Dark, he texted me. He shouldn’t have been able to do that.” Y/N broke the hug, much to Mark’s dismay, to open their pocket and pull out a handful of shards and dust. “This was my phone.” Then their face fell. It was stupid, but they’d had a realization that brought them to tears. “There were pictures of us on there, Mark.”

Mark gathered them up again. (Frankly, he never wanted to let them go.) The phone shards sprinkled to the floor as Y/N clung to Mark, crying quietly. “Shh, it’s okay. We’re safe here. You did the right thing. We can always take more pictures.” They had to be safe in the manor. The manor was hidden as well as Mark knew how to hide. He couldn’t hide a thing like one of his stories nearly as well. Despite the fact that Dark still should not have known, invading his heist wasn’t cause to believe they were no longer safe there, so he repeated: “We’re safe here.” They had to be.

**Author's Note:**

> it seems to me in AHWM Dark is trying to get the viewer to doubt Mark — to question him and the like. so, the crazy part about this version of events is Dark’s goals are still met. They’re totally doing that to some extent there in the middle, despite the fact that it obviously didn’t go down like Dark intended.


End file.
